


your hand i hold

by emrysthewarlock



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, i just want them to be safe and happy, i love these boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emrysthewarlock/pseuds/emrysthewarlock
Summary: But I won’t. I know I won’t. Snow could wake up and hold his sword to my throat and end me in my sleep and I won’t regret this.(Baz comes back to Watford, thinking he's recovered from his kidnapping. He hasn't.)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 37
Kudos: 351





	your hand i hold

**Author's Note:**

> content warning for canon-typical morbidity and melancholy, thanks to Baz and his self-destructive tendencies
> 
> title taken from revelation by troye sivan & jonsi

**Baz**

I am expecting constant scrutiny when I got back to Watford. In fact, I am spending the majority of this car ride with Fiona tuning her out and trying to figure out how exactly I am going to survive under not only the ever-present watchful gaze, but also the incessant questions, of Simon  _ fucking  _ Snow. 

I should be used to this by now. And I suppose on some facile level, I am. It’s all too easy to hurl back insults while Simon blusters like only he can. It’s all too easy to hit him where it hurts.

(We are too good at hurting each other. Yet another thing to add to the list of why Simon Snow is irrevocably terrible for me. And why I’m worse for him.)

I should be used to the heat of Snow’s glare, the downturn of his mouth, the way he  _ follows  _ me, determined to catch me in the act of something (anything). Yet every time I return to Watford I find myself two seconds away from collapsing in his arms like a fainting maiden and begging him to do what he wishes. Kiss me or kill me. 

Snow would probably kill me if I touched him. I don’t think I would mind. 

Because I can’t kill him. 

And I’m a deranged vampire with a death wish. Ask anyone. 

The constant examination is going to be even more unbearable this year: I came into term  _ late _ . Snow is going to have a fucking field day trying to figure out where I was.

Like I’m going to tell him.

Like I’m going to tell  _ anyone  _ I was kidnapped by fucking numpties. 

Like I’m going to tell anyone I was kidnapped in the first place.

Snow would probably laugh at me like there was no tomorrow. And I, being an idiot, would stare at him as his smile takes up his entire face and his eyes crunch and the freckles on his face twinkle at me. God, I hate him.

“We’re here,” Fiona tells me as we pull up to the winding circular driveway of Watford. Something curls in my stomach at the sight of the soaring towers, lines of ivy crawling up the sides. No matter how nervous I was about seeing Snow, it was so good to be back. “Don’t get kidnapped by any more numpties, dumbass.”

“Thank you for your input, Fiona,” I respond shortly, pulling my trunk out of the boot of the car. “Don’t turn into even more of a bitchy old witch with no friends.”

She laughs at that. “You wish you had my social life..”

(It’s true. I’m frightfully, fearfully, lonely. Dev and Niall have always been acquaintances, forced into the same circle as me by parents with the same objectives. Hell, I should have the same objectives. I just don’t know if I do anymore.)

I raise a hand in goodbye as I make my way up the stone stairs to Mummers. I had enough time to drop my things off and still make it down to the dining hall for a bite. Ever since the numpties, I hadn’t felt  _ full _ . Not with blood or with food. I could eat and drink over and over again and I would still feel something hollow in the pit of my stomach.

“Take care of yourself, Basilton,” Fiona calls after me, a rare moment of genuine caring. Merlin, maybe she really  _ does  _ care.

“You too,” I call over my shoulder, turning around only when I hear the engine of her car move away. I watch it pull down the driveway in the direction of the golden gates separating Watford, this haven of magic and safety, from the rest of the world (where vampires who are top of their class can get kidnapped by  _ numpties _ ). 

As I trudge along the winding pathway to Mummers House, I briefly consider if it was a mistake to come back. Not that I would admit it, as I had fought so adamantly to come back, but I’m nothing if not a complete paradox. My leg is still limp. My head is cloudy with exhaustion, no matter how much I’ve slept since then, and I’m always hungry and thirsty. Being in dark rooms makes me panic. Loud noises overwhelm me. And all these families are expecting me to finally, once and for all, put an end to the Mage and/or the Mage’s Heir. I am, by all accounts, not at all ready to go back to Watford.

But I rescind my previous statement. I’m nothing if not needlessly obstinate. And, like I said. Deranged vampire with a death wish. 

I finally make it to my room, our room I suppose, thankfully without seeing anyone. I’d like to be the person to break the news that I’m back, thank you very much. I pry open the door, and allow a small smile to come across my face. The bright morning light streams through the window--that Snow left open--and it covers everything in the room. I can smell the wood of our beds and the scent of Snow’s hospital-smelling soap and Bunce (I really need to figure out how she gets into this room). I can smell the faint tinge of smoke that always accompanies Snow wherever he goes. It smells like home.

I push my trunk to the side, and make short work of hanging up my clothes and placing my bottles in the bathroom. Snow has already made a mess of it but god, I’ve missed this so much that I don’t clean it up. There will be time to fight about it later. 

I glance in the mirror as I finish, pausing briefly to take in how absolutely terrible I look. I knew I didn’t look at peak health, but this is a new low for me. My skin is grey, my hair is dull, and there are circles under my eyes that can’t be spelled away so easily (not unless I want to end up without any eyes). My face is thin and gaunt, and when I place a hand on my side I can feel my ribs. It’s going to be real work trying to get back in shape for football. If they even let me on the team.

I switch off the lights and walk away from my reflection. 

Time to go face my fucking destiny

Time to go face Simon fucking Snow. 

**Simon**

I can’t take my eyes of Baz as he strides over to his usual fucking table. He’s limping, I can tell. And his face is pale and he looks exhausted and skinny. I narrow my eyes at him as he pointedly avoids my gaze. I know he can feel me glaring, the bastard. 

“Does he look ill to you?” I ask Penny, who has recovered from Baz’s appearance much faster than I have. She looks up, bored, from her book ( _ Magickal Ethics: A Look into Conjuring Objects _ ) and glances over at Baz.

“I guess. Maybe he was sick and that’s why he’s late. Simon, it’s really none of our concern.” 

That last bit is said  _ very  _ pointedly and maybe that should be my cue to take a hint and buzz off about this Baz nonsense, as Penny so eloquently put it two years back. But I can’t. Not when Baz is  _ back _ after  _ weeks _ looking like the life was drained out of him. Not when I have to think about what he’s been up to, what sort of plot he’s concocted with his family to take me down. To take the Mage down. To use his vampire-y skills (that I  _ know  _ he has) to bring about the end of us all.

He was gone,  _ plotting _ , when his mother came for him. Something bitter swirls up in me. He had a chance to meet her, and he wasted it because he decided coming up with an evil plan was so much more important.

“Let it  _ go _ ,” Penny tells me warningly. Her words draw me back to reality, and I can smell the smoke coming off of me. I can’t go off, not here, not over Baz. The bastard doesn’t deserve it. “ _ Merlin _ , Simon. Grab some scones. Let’s walk it off.”

I do grab a scone and allow Penny to lead me out the door. I know Agatha is watching me. Maybe now that I’m leaving she’ll go sit with Baz. Something about that doesn’t sit well with me. I feel myself growing warmer, and Penny warningly squeezes my arm.

For a moment I think Baz is watching me too. But when I look back, his gaze is fixed on the full plate in front of him.

He hasn’t eaten anything.

\--

I go back to the room after Penny successfully cooling me off, thirty minutes until my first lesson of the day. Baz is already there, lying on his bed in uniform, one long leg dangling off the side. He doesn’t move at all. Actually, he definitely flinched a little when the door opened, which is new.

He doesn’t look at me. 

I look at him.

“I know I’m attractive Snow, but you really don’t have to stare at me so intently,” he says, his voice as cool and uniform as ever. 

I scowl at that, working up something to say, knowing I won’t be able to. 

Baz smirks, finally setting his eyes on me. “Eloquent as ever.”

I should be angrier, but all I can think about is how tired he looks. He doesn’t look  _ healthy _ . Whatever he’s been planning must be extremely evil if it’s taken this much out of him.

“Where have you been?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as he turns away.

“Why do you care?”

“I’d like to know if you were planning my death behind my back.” 

He lets out a bitter laugh at like that, and I wonder if I’ve missed a joke somewhere. “I’m going to class,” is all he says in answer. “You should too, heaven knows you’re doing bad enough without skipping.”

And he’s gone, out the door, leaving a smell of cedarwood in his wake. 

And I’m here, uncomfortably warm, realizing I still haven’t told him about his mother.

**Baz**

Snow has been staring at me all day. I can’t make myself look back, not even to fix him with a cool stare that might deter him for a few seconds, because I’m  _ exhausted _ . My head is pounding, my eyes are watering, and I’m so cold and if I look at Simon Snow I might have a complete meltdown right here, in the middle of Elocution, and officially lose any credit I have.

So I ignore him like only I can do.

I know it can’t last forever. I skip dinner to empty a few rats in the Catacombs, only for it to come right back up as my stomach rejected the only food I had given it today. I spend the next several minutes retching uncomfortable on the stone floor, vomit and blood and tears mixing together. 

I spell myself clean before I visit my mother. If she survived, she would have killed me the instant I Turned. If she survived, I wouldn’t be down here, a malnourished vampire who’s hopelessly in love with the Mage’s fucking Heir. She never would have let a vampire into Watford. 

My head is so heavy and I’m so caught up in wishing someone would drive a stake into my heart and put me out of my misery that I forget about my biggest problem at hand until I’m standing in front of the door and seriously debating about whether or not I should just spend the night in the Catacombs.

(I’ve done it before. It’s cold and smells odd and I always leave covered in dust. But I can do it.)

However, the one thing I missed at Watford was my  _ bed _ . Sleeping in a coffin for weeks on end will make anyone miss their bed, even if it is small and semi-uncomfortable and unfortunately situated right next to the love of your life, also known as your greatest enemy. 

I open the door, heading immediately for the shower so I can ignore Snow for as long as possible. This doesn’t work, because he darts forward and blocks my path. Like he planned it. Crowley, and he blames  _ me  _ for plotting?

“I need to talk to you,” he says, glaring up at me. 

This close, the height difference between the two of us is more pronounced. He has to look up at me and I down at him. I can feel the heat radiating off of him, his golden hair curling around his forehead. 

I need to stop this train of thought.

“Right,” I drawl, arranging my features into one of bored annoyance (I’ve become quite talented at controlling my expressions over the year. Not like Snow. He’s an open book.). “And I suppose everything is about what  _ you  _ want?”

I try to move past him, but Snow is almost as stubborn as I am and blocks the entire doorway to the bathroom. “It’s important,” he insists.

God, my leg is numb and my head is throbbing and I’m so  _ cold _ and I really can’t stand here and let Snow throw accusations at me looking for all the world like an angel. My willpower is strong, but it’s not this strong. 

“Surely what you have to say isn’t quite  _ that  _ important, Snow.” He’s so warm. I’m two seconds away from falling into him.

Maybe he’ll generously end my life if I do. 

“Do you have to be so,” he stammers, face flushed.

“So what? Use your words.” I say the phrase without any magic. I’m not really in the mood to hear everything on his mind at this moment. 

“So  _ you _ !” he exclaims. “So fucking frustrating!” He reaches his hands to tear at his hair.

I take advantage of his preoccupation with his hair to push past him into the bathroom, locking the door neatly behind me. I hear a thud that indicates Snow has resorted to brute force, accompanied by a drawn-out groan.

I’m glad I frustrate him. Heaven knows he does the same to me. 

I turn on the shower to the hottest setting it can go, quickly peeling off my uniform. Once, I had thought that maybe a hot shower was close enough to fire and would be enough to rid the world of me. No luck. It’s a shame. Then maybe I wouldn’t be here, my forehead pressed to cool tile as the water strikes my skin, thinking about Simon Snow and dying and how utterly screwed I am. Screwed up. Screwed over. All of the above.

I shower until the coldness of my skin gives in to the warmth of the shower and the fog has made my legs sufficiently wobbly. I dress quickly, brushing my teeth, and praying to any god out there that Simon is asleep when I come out.

Hesitantly, I open the door just a crack. He’s dressed for bed, covers pulled up over his shoulders, facing away from me. I breathe a sigh of relief.

The darkness of the bedroom quickens my pulse, but not enough to deter me from sleep. I manage the steps it takes to get into bed, enough energy only to collapse and pull the comforter over my head before I succumb completely to sleep with thoughts of gold hair and freckles and blood and death curling through my head.

**Simon**

I’m wide awake, eyes staring up at the ceiling. I can’t see as well in the dark as Baz can (I mean, he’s a vampire right? Vampires can see in the dark. I think. Really, I know fuck-all about vampires except for the fact that they take long showers and like being an ass to their roommate) but I can make out his shape on his bed, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window.

I hadn’t been able to fall asleep after he locked himself in the bathroom. First, it was because I was too wound up. Then, because I was afraid that he was going to leave after I fell asleep to go perform his evil plot. 

But now, Baz is in bed. He’s breathing softly and quietly, and each minute that passes makes it less likely that he’s faking it. 

To be fair, he looked exhausted when I cornered him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so tired, and I’ve known him for seven years. I’m just more curious, now, what on earth he’s up to. 

I let out a sigh, rolling over onto my side. I may as well sleep now. It’s not like I can keep up with Baz if I’m running on no sleep (or maybe I can. He walks like one of his legs is kind of messed up). I’ve just allowed myself to give in to sleep, eyelids becoming heavy, when I hear the noises.

It starts as a whimper. I sit up, staring at Baz’s bed because although I am positive the noise came from there, Baz is not one to _whimper_. 

Sure enough, as I stare, the pained little noises keep happening. Baz starts thrashing back and forth, arms hitting out at something I can’t see. “No,” he’s whispering, voice hoarse and strained. “No, no, no.” His voice breaks. I think he might be crying.

I’m not sure what to do here. Surely I should be glad he’s suffering, right? But I can’t just sit here, not when Baz is tossing and turning and  _ crying  _ and for some godforsaken reason it makes me feel  _ bad _ . There definitely isn’t a protocol for what to do when your roommate-turned-enemy is having a nightmare, but I can’t do  _ nothing _ . 

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and tentatively make my way to his bed. From what I can see in the moonlight, his face is scrunched up and the area around his eyes are wet. He stops hitting the air and starts clawing at his throat and Baz is  _ hurting  _ himself and I need to stop him.

“Baz!” I whisper-shout. He doesn’t react, just keeps scratching at his skin and I feel a little nauseous. I grab his hands, tearing them away from the welts on his skin. 

Baz starts at that, sitting up, eyes wild and full of something heavy that I can’t explain. He looks right through me at first, and then his eyes adjust and the pain on his face is replaced with an uncharacteristically genuine emotion: fear. 

“You were having a nightmare,” I offer. Suddenly, I feel awkward. I let go of his hands. He looks down at them like he didn’t even realize I was holding them. He still hasn’t said a word.

I step back. “Um. You were hurting yourself. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Which is such a  _ stupid  _ thing to say because he obviously isn’t okay. Even someone as oblivious as me (I can acknowledge my personality traits) could tell. His eyes are wide and sad as he gingerly lifts a shaking hand to his neck. He’s still silent. Then the fear gives way to urgency and he jumps out of bed so fast I think he’s going to hit me. I yell “Anathema!” but he just pushes past me to the bathroom and before I can even figure out what just happened I hear him retching like he’s emptying all his organs into the toilet. 

I’m once again at a loss. I’ve never seen this side of Baz before. He’s always been so carefully aloof, so cold, so  _ untouchable _ . But he looks so sad and so scared and he was  _ hurting  _ himself and now he’s throwing up and something stirs in my chest that I can’t name. I think I just want him to be okay so I can find out what his plan is.

But even thinking about it, I know that’s not it. 

I hear Baz continue to empty out his stomach and decide not to think too hard about this right now. Nothing good ever comes out of me thinking too hard about anything: I just have to act. 

So I do.

I switch on the light the bathroom, to see Baz leaning over the toilet, hair falling into his face which is paler than I’ve ever seen it. His skin is slick with sweat and his hands are shaking and he’s definitely crying, and I don’t know what to do.

“Baz,” I start slowly, but he just shakes his head.

“Go away, Simon,” but the threatening air he probably wanted to convey is significantly hindered by the fact that his voice is hoarse and he’s resting his head on the  _ toilet  _ seat and he’s  _ crying _ . 

“I’m not going to leave you here,” I tell him. The fact that he called me Simon dimly registers in the back of my head, accompanied by a strange feeling in my chest that I decide to file away for later inspection. I pull one of the washcloths off the rack and wet it with cool water. He won’t look at me. 

“Go. Away.” He’s closed his eyes, breaths coming out short and labored. I sympathize, I really do. God knows I wouldn’t want Baz to find me in this position, vulnerable and scared and emotional. It doesn’t change the fact that we’re here. Even if we hate each other, I would have to be a real dick to just leave him the way he is. 

I don’t answer him, instead kneeling down beside him to press the cool cloth to his forehead. He mutters something, a complaint probably, but doesn’t resist as I wipe his face and draw his hair back. This is so  _ fucking  _ weird. He’s  _ Baz _ .

I flush the toilet and pull him into a standing position. He’s taller than me, but he’s bent over and leaning so heavily into me that it feels like I’m the taller one right now. This… isn’t natural. I’m touching Baz, and it’s not to hit him. I’m touching him and he’s leaning into me and he’s shaking and out of it and Christ, I’m  _ worried _ .

I shouldn’t be worried about him.

Why am I worried about him?

He’s still shaking when I tell him to brush his teeth. It’s something Agatha told me once, that she learned from Dr. Wellbelove. To brush your teeth after you throw up. 

(We were very drunk. And very worried about hangovers.)

Agatha feels like a million miles away as I rest my arm around Baz as he clumsily runs his toothbrush through his mouth. Baz never does anything clumsily. 

He rinses out his mouth and then tries to pull away from me. “I’m fine, Snow,” he mumbles, hands pressing against my shoulder. “Let me go.”

To humor him, I do. Baz stands for a second, and then his legs give out and he catches himself on the bathroom countertop.

“Right,” I say, as I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him back up. “I don’t really believe you.” My hand settles on his side, and I can feel the bones of his rib cage, pronounced against his skin. Another wave of worry crashes over me, because Baz is thinner than I am after a summer at a care home and that isn’t natural. And he’s so cold. I can feel the chill through his nightshirt, sending a shiver up my spine.

I gently lead him towards his bed, where he collapses. His eyes are open, staring blankly at the ceiling. His eyes are swollen and his face is thin, and his mouth is drooped in an expression sadder than I’ve ever seen him. 

“You should get some beauty sleep. You need it,” I joke, hoping to make him do  _ something  _ in reaction. He doesn’t say a word, squeezing his eyes shut instead. 

I worry at my lip. I’ve never seen him like this. So  _ dead _ . I reach forward, hesitate, and then move back. What can I even do to help? Baz doesn’t even acknowledge me, and I think that maybe it’s time to go to bed and deal with the aftermath in the morning. I step backwards, but Baz simultaneously reaches out, almost imperceptibly, towards me.

He draws his hands back to his lap quicker than I can blink, avoiding eye contact again. His face is slightly flushed, not as pale as it was. 

Stubborn ass. He doesn’t want to be alone, but Baz is almost as stubborn as me. He’s not going to ask for anything.

I shouldn’t give anything to him. He was playing with Agatha today, playing with  _ me _ , rude and callous as always. I shouldn’t bend, not when we have years of history and distrust. For all I know, this is part of his plot. Get me to comfort him, then the next thing I know he’s learning all my secrets and slicing my throat. 

But I bend.

I give in. 

Because I look at Baz’s face and all I can see is  _ Baz _ . Not Baz, my enemy. Not Baz, evil vampire. Not Baz, the biggest prick I’ve ever met.

Just Baz.

I hesitantly sit on the edge of his bed, and when he doesn’t push me away, I swing my legs over the side and recline. We’re shoulder to shoulder, just enough space between us so that we don’t touch. Baz is still shaking. I might be too. This is ridiculous. This is crazy. This is…

Baz lets out a small exhale, and curls up on his side, facing me. I look over. The tension is easing between his eyes.

This is the right decision.

And so I fall asleep, a vampire curled up at my side. 

**Baz**

Snow is sleeping. He’s sleeping next to me. Next to a vampire. 

I don’t know when we got so good at reading each other that he knew I wanted him to stay. I don’t know why I wanted him to stay. 

I just want to sleep but my head is still swirling and my heart is still racing and I’m still not entirely sure what  _ Simon Snow  _ is doing in my  _ bed _ . 

And I’m embarrassed.

Crowley, I’m embarrassed. 

I’ve had nightmares before the numpties. Of blood and vampires and killing Snow and sitting there, his blood on my hands, crying because I’ve never been strong enough to do the right thing. Now, I have nightmares of dying, the darkness suffocating me until I can’t breathe. Of Snow leaving me to die because that’s what I  _ deserve _ . Of being trapped in a burning box. 

I’m not sure which one I was having when Snow woke me up. It faded from my mind as I emptied anything left in my stomach into the toilet. 

Snow has now seen me at my worst. Crying with scratches on my neck, vomit in my mouth, shaking and weak and so  _ cold _ . And now he’s here, an inch of space between us, because I’m weak. But more than anything, I’m fucking embarrassed. I just bared my whole fucking soul to Simon Snow, gave him  _ years _ of blackmail material (“Did you know Baz cries when he sleeps?” he would say. “Cries and shouts like a baby and then needs my help to go back to sleep.”) but he’s here in my bed and all I can think of is how badly I want this. I haven’t been  _ touched  _ in so long. Not like I mattered, not with warm, reassuring hands. 

His warmth emanates across the space, and I allow it to graze my skin, making me feel more alive than I have in years. I’m selfish. So selfish. I should tell him to go, tell him to get away from me. 

But I won’t. I know I won’t. Snow could wake up and hold his sword to my throat and end me in my sleep and I won’t regret this. 

I keep my eyes open, watching Snow. His chest rises and falls slowly, a strip of freckled skin showing between his shirt and his pyjama pants. A sense of longing rises in me, and I shove it back down. I can’t have this. I can’t ever have this. Snow and I are destined to end each other and he’s all fire and gold and I’m  _ flammable  _ and pale and I can’t be selfish and draw him in when I want him.

I roll over to my other side, squeezing my eyes shut. But I’ll let it happen. Just for tonight. 

\--

When I wake up, Snow is gone. 

His side of the bed is still warm. 

I sit up, my head throbbing. I slept better than I have in weeks, but I’m exhausted still. I also know that what happened last night cannot happen again. I cannot, and will not, allow myself to be drawn into Simon Snow’s gravity field again. 

Not when all I do is hurt him. Not when I’m me.

I rub my eyes. Maybe I’ll try breakfast today. With any luck, I’ll sneak something away so I can eat in the catacombs so no one notices my fangs popping. I wash my face and try and rinse off any thoughts of Simon Snow. 

(It doesn’t work).

When I go down to the dining hall, Snow is sitting with Bunce again. His eyes follow me across the dining hall, his gaze boring into me. I don’t look up or acknowledge him. I can’t. I need to stay as far away from Snow as possible.

In Elocution, he tries to talk to me. I brush past him. 

It happens again in History of Magic.

Something heavy settles in my stomach. I suppose this is how it needs to be now. Me moving out of Simon’s orbit, pretending I don’t feel his gravity more than any other person. This is what I want, I try to remind myself. But it doesn’t stop some feeling of sadness creeping up my throat. 

I can’t handle sadness. So I deflect with what I know best. 

Cruelty.

I laugh when Simon’s face turns red with concentration as he fails to master a  **Clean as a whistle** spell. “Isn’t that a second-year spell?” I ask to Dev and Niall who laugh unpleasantly as Snow’s glare ends up on my back. 

(I don’t know what I’m doing. I want him to look at me. I want him to talk to me. I want to run away so I never have to look at his face again. I don’t know what I want.)

We get our tests back, and I say, loud enough for Snow to hear, “Honestly, this test was a breeze. If anyone got under a 70, they really have no business in Watford.” 

He got a 65. I saw his paper.

Class ends, and I make my way to our room to collect my books for the next class. I should feel satisfied, insulting Snow is  _ normal _ . But I feel like shit. Absolute, utter, shit. Hopefully, the Mage and/or Snow end me soon enough. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t pretend like I want anything other than to rest my forehead on Snow’s shoulder and for him to tell me everything will be alright.

Nothing is fucking alright.

Least of all me.

**Simon**

I’m fuming. 

I’m so close to going off that Penny had to drag me aside to calm down after Magickal History. Baz is a fucking  _ asshole _ . I sacrificed my night of good sleep so he could feel better and he repays me with insults? 

I can’t fucking take this.

I promise Penny I’m fine, even though blood is roaring in my ears and my skin is prickling with uncomfortable heat as I rage up to Mummers House. I’m going to go up there and make Baz fucking sit and listen as I give him a piece of my fucking mind. He has  _ no  _ right. 

I throw the door to our room open, relishing in how it slams the wall and how Baz jumps, just a small bit.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I demand, watching him ignore me to put his books in his bag. His fucking messenger bag. He looks impossibly posh in it.

“Right now, it’s called Simon Snow and it’s blocking my way to my last class of the evening,” he responds coolly, still not looking at me. 

I growl at him. “That’s not what I fucking meant.”

“Well then, please use your words so we can all get on with our day.” Baz still won’t look at me. He’s pretending to be caught up in looking for a book but he already put it in his bag. I know he has Magickal Literature next period. 

“You had a  _ nightmare _ , Baz. You cried and threw up and I slept in the same  _ bed  _ as you and all you’ve done today is insult me and ignore me.” My temper is working up. I try and keep it in check, because the last thing we need is our room to catch on fire. I’m pretty sure Baz is flammable.

Actually, let him burn. Fucking prick deserves it.

Baz’s shoulders tense as I bring up last night. “Would you like an award?” he asks smoothly. “Roommate of the year?”

“I just want you to talk to me like a normal person!” I cry. “I want to know why you had a nightmare and why you look like  _ shit  _ and where the fuck you’ve been for the beginning of term! I want to know why you keep pushing me away!”

Baz turns around, leaning back against the desk, arms crossed in front of his chest. He still looks cool and undisturbed. It’s a sign of how well I know him that I can see the tightness around his eyes, in the corner of his mouth. “It’s not my fault you have nothing better to do than worry about my whereabouts,” he says. “Sorry, I can’t give you any more information for you to run along to the Mage and tell him about the big bad vampire you claim lives in your room and has been spending all their free time plotting how to kill you. I have more important things to do, Snow.”

This could be a confession if it wasn’t said with such dry sarcasm. I hate that he treats this so lightly. I hate that he mocks me and makes me hurt and won’t give me the time of day. I hate that he’s acting like last night never happened. 

If he can be cruel then Christ, so can I. 

“Well, I’m glad that what you were doing was so  _ important _ ,” I bite out. “Because I saw a Visiting in our room.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I continue, my voice growing louder. I’m angry and hot. And all I can picture is Baz reaching towards me last night, only to so obviously push me away today. I can’t figure out what any of it means at all. I can’t tell why I’m so bothered. “Your mom came. She wanted to talk to you, but I guess you were too busy doing more  _ important _ things than to talk to her.” I should stop. I can’t. “But I bet she wouldn’t want to talk to you if she knew what you were like now. I think you’d disgust her. Having a chance to talk to your mother and throwing it away for some petty war against the Mage.”

I immediately wish I hadn’t said that. Hurling those words was exactly like throwing a stone at a glass house: a glass house that has been painted metallic for the facade of something much stronger. His face crumples, and I wish I had said something else. Anything else. 

Baz looks like he’s about to… I don’t know. Yell. Scream. Cry. I don’t know.

Then his eyes harden. He’s looking at the ground. “I was kidnapped,” he says quietly. 

“What?” I say, like an idiot. 

“I was kidnapped!” he yells, cool composure giving way to something more desperate and harsh, the words seeming like they’re tearing themselves out of his throat. “I was kidnapped, kept in a coffin for weeks because that’s apparently what you do with  _ vampires _ and you’re right. My mother  _ would  _ be disgusted with me. She would’ve killed me herself if she knew what I was.”

He drops his bag at his feet, and heads towards the door. 

Suddenly, I want to take everything back. I’m aware that he all but handed me a confession, that I should run and tell the Mage right now. A vampire in Watford! It’s what I’ve been saying all along. But all I see is unshed tears in Baz’s eyes and shaking, pale hands, and his idea that he should be dead. “Baz,” I begin, but he whirls around as his hand closes around the doorknob.

His eyes are burning. “ _ Don’t _ talk to me, Snow,” he hisses. “I mean it.”

And he’s gone.

And I’m an idiot.

**Baz**

I go to the Catacombs. 

I don’t plan on leaving here. Ever. Let me die down here, around rats and dust and the dark. 

Crowley, let me die.

**Simon**

I stare at the door after Baz.

I stare and stare.

I’m not afraid of going off anymore. I’m too cold.

**Baz**

I find myself at her grave again. 

The stone memorial stands, immovable, while I sit down in front of it. I think people misunderstand when I say my mother would kill me if I was a vampire. I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t care if it meant that she was here, where she was supposed to be. 

A cold air breezes around the tunnels, stirring my hair from the back of my neck. 

I think I should hate Snow for what he said. I can’t, though. Crowley knows I’ve probably said worse. 

His words echo back to me.  _ Why do you keep pushing me away?  _

Because you’re everything to me because I can’t help but fall into you each time because you’re fire and I’m lighter fluid.

Because I’m a vampire and I’m bad for him and I’ve known since I was 11 that I was going to die at Simon Snow’s hand. 

Because if I give a little I won’t stop until I’ve poured everything I have into Snow and he will be repulsed and want nothing to do with me. I’d rather fight with him, rather he  _ hate  _ me, instead of living in a world without him. 

Because because because

I stand up. I need to be away from her grave, I need to be somewhere else. But as soon I rise to my feet my vision goes dark and I’m aware of my hands and cheek touching the cold stone floor before I’m out. 

**Simon**

Eventually, I stop staring.

And I start panicking.

All I can see is the hurt in his eyes, the way he said he wished his mother would kill him, the bright red lines on his throat and his pale face, wet with sweat and tears as he bent over a toilet. I can feel his ribs under my palm and the way his chest heaved with sobs. 

I’m running before I even know what I’m doing. 

He’ll be in the Catacombs. I know he will be. Because I know him and now I know he was kidnapped and he’s so sad and so unhealthy.

_ Baz _ .

When did he become such a central part of my life? 

As I race down the stairs, I already know the answer. He’s been there, always. Even through fire, through fighting, through anything. I’ve always expected Baz’s presence. Counted on it. 

And when he didn’t show up at the beginning of this year…

I was  _ worried _ . 

Rightly so, it appears. He went and got himself kidnapped. Fucking kidnapped… I feel heat course through my veins and I have to try and stamp it down because I can’t afford to go off. Not now.

Baz is a vampire. Baz was kidnapped. Baz is sad. Baz has nightmares. Baz.

I don’t want to ever let him out of my sight again.

Although I’m desperate, I briefly wonder if I should get Penny. She always knows what to do and I never do. What do I do, Penny? I can’t talk to her about this. There’s too much to unpack, too many convoluted feelings that I can’t process and there’s Baz and I can’t tell all his secrets to her. Not like this. 

I push open the heavy stone door to the Catacombs, heart thumping wildly against my ribcage. I’m immediately greeted with the smell of dust and decay and smoke.

Smoke?

For a second I worry I’m going off but there’s no magic pouring out of me. It stays, prickly uncomfortably under my skin, but it’s there.

Fire, I think. There’s a fire.

I rest my hand near my hip and call out the Sword of Mages in case there’s something, someone, waiting for me. I feel the cool hilt rest in my palm, and then I’m running and running and running towards the source of the smoke.

The closer I get, the denser the smoke gets. It’s burning my eyes and irritating my throat. I cough and listen to it echo around the caverns. I round a corner and I see fire. Tongues of it, red and orange and gold blazing around the chamber, licking the ceilings and capturing cobwebs and dust and the only things left untouched, surrounded by a halo of red and gold is Headmistress Pitch’s grave and

_ Baz _ .

He’s tossing around, legs kicking out at something I cannot see. Every time he acts out, the flames climb higher and higher. I think he’s crying out, but all I can hear is the roar of flames around me and the blood in my ears. I dart forward, ignoring the heat that licks at my clothes and hair. All I can see is Baz, face contorted in pain, caught up in another nightmare that I need to get him out of. I have to.

I fall to my knees beside him, my sword clattering the stone floor. I grab Baz, pulling him up. “Wake up!” I think I’m yelling. Baz’s eyes snap open and he’s pushing against my arms, trying to get away but I can’t let him. He’ll run straight into the flames if I let him go.

“Baz, you’re flammable!” I pull him so he’s facing me, his eyes are dark and heavy and he looks scared and I don’t want to ever let him go. “Put out the fire!”

Awareness comes into his eyes suddenly and all at once and he’s pushing me back with so much strength. I stumble back, hands scratching the floor.

“I told you not to follow me,” he says without much venom. His hair is falling into his face and his face is golden in the reflection of the fire. He hasn’t put it out yet.

“When have I  _ ever  _ listened to you?” He doesn’t respond. “Baz, you need to put out the fire. You’re  _ flammable _ .”

“Everyone’s flammable.” 

“Put it out!” I sound desperate. In another circumstance, I wouldn’t want him to know I care. But now, all I can think about is how he’s here and there’s fire and I need him to be safe.

He sneers at me. “Why do you care, Snow? Isn’t this what you want? For me to die, finally putting you out of your misery? If I’m gone, then you can finally move on with your plan as the Mage’s lapdog.” His words trail off, and I know, I  _ know  _ now that he’s trying to push me away. 

I reach forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want that.”

“Why not?” he cries, wrenching away. He’s so close to the flames. “What do you want from me?” his voice breaks, as he finishes. “Why are you doing this to me?”

And he’s breaking and he’s so close to the fire and all I want is for him to be here, besides me, where I can keep an eye on him because all I want, all I have  _ ever  _ wanted is for Baz to be by my side. I open my mouth, but I’ve never been good with words and Baz is falling apart in my hands and so I pull him forward and years and years of  _ something  _ come out and I press my lips against his.

**Baz**

Simon Snow is kissing me. 

_ Simon Snow is kissing me.  _

His lips are pressed to mine and he’s pulling me into him and I’m so warm. 

He pushes against me and I have never lost anything but I think I’ll be okay with giving in to Snow now. I open my mouth, just a little, and that’s all the invitation he needs to press back. Harder and hotter.

I’m giving in. I’m bending.

Why?

I pull back suddenly, and Snow falls forward at the loss of support. I catch him, the heat of his skin burning through his shirt and into my hands. “Snow. If this is just some  _ plan  _ of yours, if you’re just going to run to the Mage and tell him I’m a vampire,” because  _ Crowley _ he knows now, “and you’re going to turn me in, I need to know. I need you to stop.” Like it would change anything. Like I wouldn’t give up everything for Snow over and over again.

He  _ smiles _ , the idiot. “Baz,” he says, softly, sweetly, slowly. He leans closer, resting his forehead against mine. I want to draw back. I know the Sword of Mages is resting by his feet. But I sink into him. “When have you ever known me to plan anything?”

“Simon,” I whisper, against my will, words spilling out before I can stop them. The roar of the flames grows dimmer and dimmer. I pull away and look around to see the red and gold almost completely faded. I don’t even have to verbally cast a spell to will away the flames completely.

I turn back to Snow and he’s looking at me with the most peculiar expression etched on his features. This is too close. We’re too close. I push him away and stand up.

“Baz. We need to talk about this,” he tells me, standing up. He grabs one of my hands that’s dangling limply by my side. I exhale, eyes closed. 

“We don’t have to talk about anything.” I try and step back, taking my hand out of his grasp, but he won’t let go. He pulls me closer. 

“We do.”

“Well, then. Congratulations on completing your heroic deed of the year, I’m sure Wellbelove will be desperate to run back into the arms of Watford’s resident savior.” I’m being unfair. I don’t care. So is he. 

“Baz.”

“Snow.”

“I don’t  _ want  _ Agatha.”

“You should tell her that, then.”

“I don’t want Agatha, Baz.” Snow steps closer. We’re breathing the same air. He smells like smoke and fair and green earth and I want him to hold me and never let go. Maybe he’s supposed to bring around my end, but I never feel safer than when I’m around him. “I  _ don’t _ .”

“Good job on your revelation. How long did it take you to think about that?” My voice is faint. There’s not nearly enough bite in the words. 

“I don’t want Agatha.” He’s closer still. I can feel his words on my lips. “I want  _ you _ .”

My throat tightens. I’ve waited years, so many years for him to say that. To hear the words tumble out of his mouth that never stops talking. That I meant something to him. But I don’t want it, I  _ can’t  _ want this. 

“I can’t, Snow.” I pull away, but his hands have still captured mine and I’m not going anywhere. 

“You called me Simon before.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“You don’t want this, Snow.”

“How do you know what I want?” His voice is intense. Not angry. Just… full. “I didn’t even know what I wanted until today.”

This is too much. He’s earnest and holding my hands and he’s warm and he  _ wants  _ me and he hasn’t even thought about this. He never thinks.

“You don’t want  _ this _ .” My voice is insisting, persuading. “You want gold hair and safety and children. You don’t want a pyromaniac vampire who hates the Mage and has a penchant for burning people when they get too close.” 

All I do is burn.

“Good thing I’m not flammable then.” This again? I take back whatever I said. Snow is twenty times more stubborn than I am and a glutton for danger. 

“Everyone’s flammable.” He’s a dumbass. 

(He’s a dumbass and he wants  _ me _ .)

“Not me.” 

“I’m a vampire.”

“I don’t care.”

“You hate me.”

“I worry about you.”

“I don’t know how to do this. Any of it.”

“Neither do I.” He cups my face in his hands, fingers caging the back of my neck. His eyes are blue. Bright blue. Golden curls fall into them and I’m running out of arguments. “But I. Don’t. Care.”

And then Simon Snow is kissing me. 

Again. 

**Simon**

This makes sense. 

Fighting doesn’t make sense. It feels heavy and prickly hot and like a box that is too small. 

This, on the other hand?

With Baz’s lips on mine, softening under my touch? This makes sense. It feels right. 

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” I mumble against his lips. He pushes forward, breathing in my words. 

Then he pulls away. Again. 

“We can’t just do this,” he says, breathless with eyes bright. “We need to talk about things.”

I know he likes me back. He kissed me too. I just don’t know why he keeps pushing me away. I would like to not talk about things and just kiss him breathless over and over again but we’re standing in the Catacombs surrounded by the ashes of bones and Baz looks just about dead on his feet. He’s worth the wait. I’d wait a million years for Baz. 

“Sleep first,” I say, running my thumb across the shadows under his eyes. I never thought I’d be able to get this close to him. Never. “You’re about to pass out.”

“Suddenly you’re a medical expert?” he quips, but the effect is marred by the fact that he sways so violently that I have to catch him. His face is pressed into my neck, and I feel him nod. “Sleep first,” he mumbles. 

(Maybe he’s not pushing me away so much anymore.)

I wrap my arm around his waist, and let him lean on me as I lead him out of the Catacombs, leaving behind ash and the smell of death. 

It’s weird, seeing Baz this weak. I’ve built up an image in my head of him: strong, posh, arrogant, and always completely sure of himself. But this is the second time in two nights I’ve seen him like this, one push from falling apart.

I’m usually the one who’s a disaster. This role reversal is messing with me, but I can’t be upset that Baz is finally ( _ finally _ ) showing me sides of him he’s kept locked away for 6 years. 

“You’re so fucking heavy,” I grunt as I basically drag him up the stairs to our room. He mutters something back that sounds suspiciously like an insult but it makes me smile. This banter. This is normal. This is safe. 

After some struggling (actually a lot of struggling. Even malnourished and sick, Baz is taller and more fit than me) I manage to get us up to our room. I carefully ease my arm away from Baz’s side, pleased when he can stand on his own. Not that I would be averse to holding him. 

I’m ready to jump into bed and deal with everything tomorrow because I’m  _ exhausted _ , but Baz goes into the bathroom to shower and I think I should at least change out of my clothes. They’re grey with soot and smell like smoke. The neck of my shirt is wet with Baz’s tears. 

All of this is so  _ new _ . The wanting to kiss Baz is new. The wanting to be around him constantly to make sure nothing happens is…

Wait that’s not new. I’ll have to ask Penny about that. 

I’m still running too warm, so I leave my t-shirt off, just tugging on cleaner pants. Then I sit on the edge of my bed, picking at the skin around my nails because Baz is showering and I don’t know if I should wait up or if I should just go to sleep and leave this evening be.

Then I remember him, in the middle of a nightmare. There’s no way I’m going to sleep before him. 

All this waiting gives me way too much time to  _ think _ . I don’t think. I just  _ do _ . I kissed Baz because in that moment I wanted to, and the next moment and the next… 

And he kissed me back because, well, I don’t know why. Maybe this is part of his plot, to make me vulnerable and then attack. To tell him all my secrets. 

I’m still sitting on the edge of my bed when he leaves the bathroom in a cloud of steam and cedar. He has his usual mask over his face, eyes and mouth neutral and hard. But underneath it, I see the hesitancy. A look that tells me he’s still too afraid to get close, that he doesn’t want to get into something if it’ll leave him hurt and I don’t think this is a plot. 

I don’t know when I got so good at reading him.

He hesitates, then moves to his bed. I don’t want that. I want him  _ here _ , in my hands. “Baz,” I call. Soft. Softly. He pauses and looks at me, and I move to the side in an obvious invitation for him to come here. 

He does. 

“You’re clingy, Snow,” he mutters to me even as he settles into my bed and pulls the covers up to his shoulders. I take his hand in mine. He’s cold, still.

“You can leave if you want.”

Baz doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

(He’s still lying there, just out of reach, and I ask him how long he’s wanted to kiss me. 

“Forever;” he says. like it’s nothing.  _ Forever _ .)

I’m strangely excited, my magic feeling warm and comfortable under my skin but exciting me all the same.  _ Forever _ . I have a million questions--and I never have questions--but Baz is swaying on his feet and my eyes are closing. We can sleep now. Talk in the morning. It’s a Saturday, neither of us have any classes and I know Baz doesn’t have football practice. He’s curled up on his side facing me, but there are still inches between us. I’m afraid he’s going to fall off the bed in the middle of the night, that’s how he close to the edge he is. 

So I pull him closer.

Baz melts against me, forehead in my neck and knees touching. A wave of exhaustion washes over me and as my eyes flutter closed, I whisper, “Good night, Baz.”

“Night, Simon.”

I go to sleep smiling.

**Baz**

I wake up warm. 

I wake up warm and in Simon Snow’s arms. 

When I crack open my eyes, I see the light streaming through the window, falling on Snow’s curls and face and bare torso and making him golden. He’s so, so alive, even in sleep. And I’m in his arms, enjoying that life.

I close my eyes again, burying my face in his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt. I could kiss each one of his freckles if I wanted to. I know how this is going to end. He’s going to wake up and push me away and realize how much of a mistake he made, realize he should not make decisions when sleep deprived and emotion fuelled and he’s going to request a new roommate and turn me into the Mage and that’ll be the end. If he doesn’t just run me through with his Sword right here and now. 

But I can take a couple more minutes to enjoy this, just the way it is. 

“Baz,” he mumbles somewhere above my head, voice thick with sleep. “I can hear you thinking from here. Please stop.”

I smile despite myself, taking comfort in the fact that he can’t see me. “Not all of us can make our brains completely empty.”

He doesn’t respond, just mumbles something and holds me closer. 

He’s just tired, now. When he’s fully awake, he’s going to push me away and this will all be over.

“ _ Stop thinking _ ,” he says again, decidedly less sleepy.

“Are you telepathic, Snow?”

“No.”

“Then how on earth do you know that I’m  _ thinkin _ g?”

“I just know. I can tell.” He rolls away and I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out for him again, wanting the warmth and comfort. Our faces are inches apart, and he’s looking at me with a stupid smile on his face. 

I’m in Simon Snow’s bed and he’s smiling at me.

This is too much.

I sit up, and his smile falters. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving. Surely you don’t want me to stay here forever?”

His face flushes, and he looks down at the bed. “I wouldn’t mind it,” he mumbles, before looking back up at me with his earnest, unremarkable blue eyes.

Crowley, I’m so far gone.

“Snow,” I tell him. He’s still looking at me and if I had eaten anything in the last 24 hours I would be flushed bright red right now. “I really need you to think about this before we get into… whatever this is. I’m a liability. I… well you know what I am. I need to know if you’re  _ sure _ .” I look at him so he knows how serious I’m being. “I’m not going to let my heart break at your hands, Snow. I  _ can’t _ .”

“You called me Simon earlier.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

One of Simon’s warm hands comes up and tangles itself in the hair behind my neck. He’s still smiling. “I want this. I don’t know why, or how, or when. But I want this. I want  _ you _ .” And he’s pulling me forward and his lips are pressed onto mine. This kiss isn’t the fiery hot desperation ringed with exhaustion that it was in the Catacombs. This is sweet and soft and I’m melting under his hands, yielding to him in a way I never have before. 

He wants  _ me _ .

Suddenly, I’m laughing. My mouth opens on his as the laughter spills out and I can’t control it. He pulls back, looking at me puzzling. Wary.

“We started our relationship,” gasp, “by my mother's grave.”

Simon looks vaguely ill. “That’s fucked up.”

“Our whole relationship so far has been fucked up,” I remind him. “This is perfect for us.”

He still looks nauseated, but he pulls me back down next to him, his hand rubbing reassuring circles on the nape of my neck. I want to stay like this forever,  _ forever _ , but I haven’t fed properly in days and Snow is warm and alive and if I hurt him…

“I have to,” I push away from him. “I need,” I gesture vaguely towards my mouth and he gets the message. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Do you need help?”

“Do I need help  _ feeding _ ? I think I’ve learned how over the past 14 years.” The usual bite in my voice is gone, like I made an unconscious choice that we were done fighting. I’m just teasing, now, and he knows.

Simon grins sleepily, pressing his face into the pillow. “Come back soon.”

I will. Of course I will. There’s so much we haven’t talked about yet. There’s still my mother’s death, the Mage, Wellbelove, vampires, numpties, and nightmares that fill the air with their heaviness. For some reason, though, the idea of getting through them with Simon makes me feel much better.

I pause at the door to look back at Simon. He’s still looking at me, eyes half-closed, a grin splayed sillily across his face. For once in my life, I have something to look forward to.

For once in my life, I feel  _ alive _ .

For once… 

**Simon**

I’m happy.

**Baz**

I’m so,  _ so,  _ happy.

“Simon,” I say.

“Baz,” he responds. 

We’re smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> yay my first snowbaz fic! i hope you guys like it, because i finally read wayward son and have fallen head over heels back in love with these two and the world of Mages (I'd also like to apologize for the lack of Penny in this one, I love her with all my heart). Tell me what you think!


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